


Lonely this Christmas

by Astrophilla, sunshinewinchesters



Series: Destiel Christmas Advent Calendar 2015 [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 25 Days of Christmas, 25 Days of Destiel Christmas, Christmas, Dean is Bad at Feelings, Destiel Advent Calendar 2015, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gabriel Being Gabriel, Gabriel talks to Dean about feelings, M/M, Pining Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:27:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5422211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrophilla/pseuds/Astrophilla, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinewinchesters/pseuds/sunshinewinchesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Castiel away finishing up a hunt, Dean is spending Christmas alone with Sam and Gabriel, leading to an unlikely heart-to-heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely this Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Astrophilla  
> Beta'd by sunshinewinchesters
> 
> Type: Canonverse AU, established Castiel/Dean, established Gabriel/Sam
> 
>  
> 
> **The thirteenth installment of our Destiel Advent Calendar!**

“Dean, _Home Alone_ ’s on TV!” Sam called out from the drawing room, and Dean lifted his eyes from the blank stare he’d had fixated on the screen of his laptop for what felt like years. 

“Awesome,” he said. 

Sam got up and poked his head around the corner of the doorway, grinning. It just pissed Dean off. “Come watch it with us.”

He pointedly looked back down at his laptop, despite the fact that he’d been on the same useless news article for the last two hours. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Why, what are you doing?” Sam asked, face falling as he came to stand by Dean’s chair, peering over his shoulder. “You can take a break, you know. Cas has got it covered.”

“I’m not—” he faltered, swiftly shutting the laptop. “Whatever. I’ve seen it a million times before, I don’t wanna watch it again.”

Sam frowned. “What, _Home Alone_?”

With a whoosh of displaced air, Gabriel appeared behind them, wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist. “Everyone has, Deano, that’s no excuse.”

“Yeah well,” he said, shoving his chair away from the table and coming to stand.

“Aw, you haven’t got anything better to do,” Sam said, throwing the puppy eyes. 

Dean glared. “Actually, yeah I do. I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, come on, grandpa,” Gabriel groaned, rolling his eyes, “it’s only eight! You’re throttling the Christmas spirit cultivated by the young prodigy that was Macaulay Culkin.”

“Sorry,” Dean shrugged, though he wasn’t in the slightest. How they could be sitting around watching movies like everything was fine had him rubbed the wrong way.

“You’re such a moody asshole,” Gabriel said. “For someone who’s been to Hell and back, you’d think you could lighten up for a minute or two. Maybe even smile.”

“Thanks,” Dean deadpanned, heading for the door. 

Gabriel popped up in front of him, attempting to block the doorway with his tiny body, and Dean glowered at him. “Come and watch the movie, you sad sucker,” the archangel said, crossing his arms.

“Yeah, please, Dean?” Sam piped up from behind them.

“I said no,” Dean growled, pushing past Gabriel and heading for the stairs.

The archangel scoffed. “I can’t believe you’re related to such a Scrooge, Sam.”

“Nice,” Dean muttered under his breath, storming up the steps.

“Merry Christmas, ya filthy animal!” Gabriel called out, and as Dean took his next step, the stairs under his feet turned to ice. His boots found no traction on the slippery surface, and he flailed for a moment before tumbling backwards and crashing to the floor.

His elbows slammed down on the tiles, and he grimaced at the ache of unhealed bruises from their last hunt being thrown into the unforgiving surface. 

“Gabe!” Sam yelled, jogging over to help Dean stand. “What the hell?”

The archangel was cackling like a madman, holding onto his knees. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“You think that’s funny, you sonovabitch?” Dean growled, furious, and Sam struggled to hold him back as he thrashed. “Lemme go, Sam, I need to find me some holy oil and fry the tiny fucker.”

Sam blanched, holding tighter. “Woah, guys! Look, let’s just calm down, we can go watch the movie—” 

“Will you just shut the fuck up!” Dean snapped, wrestling himself free. “I don’t want to fuck around watching shitty movies, playing happy families with a douchebag like him, when I could actually be doing something useful!”

Sam and Gabriel blinked at him with wide eyes as he seethed, fists clenched. His chest heaved as he struggled to calm his rapid breath, and yeah, his back and his ass were hurting like crazy from the impact with the stone floor, but hell if he was gonna show it.

After a beat, Gabriel was the first to break the silence with a stifled smirk. “What, like sleeping?”

“Fuck you,” Dean snarled, storming out of the room and into the kitchen, trying his damned hardest not to limp. 

God, he needed something strong and distilled before he actually did murder someone.

He tore his way through the cupboards, but there wasn’t anything even vaguely alcoholic anywhere—they were filled to the brim with fucking Christmas food, of all things. Even his emergency stash of vodka in the freezer was missing, replaced with frozen desserts and an enormous supply of ice cream. 

Dean slammed it shut with a glare, pulling out a chair and collapsing against the table. Fuck. He’d been on a knife edge for days, but he wasn’t expecting to blow up quite this badly. Sam was gonna be pouting for days, and all he did was give Gabriel the satisfaction of cracking him.

 _Where are you, Cas?_ he thought, dejected, as he stared at the grain of the table’s wood. He knew it was pretty useless, but it was instinctive. The angel hadn’t had his ears on the last thousand times Dean had prayed to him, so this time wasn’t gonna be any different. 

Castiel had gone to check out a potential demon hit in Wyoming days ago, telling the brothers to stay home, because it’d be a long drive, and he’d be back within the day. They’d heard next to nothing since—one measly phone call before his damn phone had run out of credit. No one else seemed to be even slightly concerned; Gabriel was his usual self-centered self, and Sam had blind faith that Cas could take on a demon or two alone if needs be, that it was all okay because he’d reassured them over the phone that he was fine, and that he’d find a way to contact them if he needed help. 

Dean wasn’t buying it. It felt so fucking wrong for the angel to be hunting alone, without backup, without Dean there. 

He forced himself to take deep breaths, fingers tight on the edge of the table. He’d just about regulated his breathing and cleared the haze of red from his vision when, in his periphery, he saw a chair opposite him being pulled out. 

Gabriel cleared his throat hesitantly, and when Dean looked up, sapped of all the fight in him, he was surprised to see the archangel actually looking contrite. 

Dean couldn’t help but snort. “You’re pretty whipped for an archangel, you know that? Thanks, but I don’t want an apology squeezed out of you by my baby brother.” 

“Nah, this is a peace mission of my own volition,” Gabriel said, holding up his hands. “Drink?” 

A bottle of Lagavulin appeared in the archangel’s hands, and he poured two fingers into two iced tumblers, sliding one across the table to Dean. 

“Thanks,” Dean said, eagerly taking a swig. It was perfectly aged Scotch, slipping down his throat rather than burning like the shit he usually drank. Pretty good peace offering if ever there was one, but his ass and his pride still hurt, and he wasn’t letting it go that easily.

“I wasn’t trying to start a war, y’know,” Gabriel said after a while, taking a mouthful of his own. “I was trying to get you to stay. I don’t want you to be alone.” 

“Cute,” Dean huffed, downing the rest of his glass. “I don’t need babysitting.”

“You can get all defensive and rude if that’s how you wanna play your cards, but it’s true,” Gabriel shrugged, elbows on the table. “You’re my family, and you’re hurting.”

Dean shook his head, indignant. “I’m not—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gabriel cut him off, sighing as he refilled their glasses. “I know you Winchester boys. I know your game.” 

“My game?” Dean repeated, raising a brow.

“Yeah, the hyper-machismo, I-have-no-emotions game,” Gabriel nodded, sipping slowly from his tumbler. “It’s, how you say, ‘cute’.” 

“I’m not hyper-anything,” Dean scowled. 

“If you say so,” Gabriel shrugged, giving him a knowing look. “Wouldn’t kill ya to admit you’re not 100% peachy all the time, though.”

“I _am_ peachy,” he protested pointlessly, downing the rest of his glass. 

Gabriel made a disbelieving noise. “Uhuh.”

Dean glared, sliding the empty tumbler across the table. “Fuck off back to your movie night, will you? I don’t need psychoanalyzing tonight, thanks, Freud.” 

Gabriel stared at him assessingly for a moment, before letting out a weary sigh. “Look, Dean. I’m a millennia old creature. I’ve been around longer than you. I’ve been around longer than dirt. Hell, I’ve been around longer than pretty much anything.”

“I get it, you’re old,” Dean said, irritated. “What’s your point?”

“I miss Sam when I’m away. I miss you both,” he corrected pensively, “but him… I’m an archangel, Dean, whether I act like it or not. But every time you knuckleheads drive off to a hunt in your phallic Mystery Machine, I’m terrified he won’t come back.”

Gabriel pursed his lips in thought, staring off unseeingly at something behind Dean. “I love him, you know.”

Dean blinked slowly, a little thrown. “Uh… Maybe you should tell him that and not me.”

The archangel chuckled. “Yeah, eventually. But I want you to understand that that’s how I feel, cosmic entity though I may be, and I’m not ashamed of it. You shouldn’t be ashamed of it either. You could do a hell of a lot worse, out of all my brothers.”

“What, _Cas_?” Dean’s face fell. “I’m not—he’s busy hunting or whatever, I get that. This isn’t... I’m just having a bad day. Why do you think I—?” 

Gabriel watched him with interest, resting his chin on his folded hands. “Why do you think it’s a problem that you do?”

Dean let out a heavy breath, cursing the heat in his cheeks. “I’m too tired for this. Thanks for the whiskey and the heart to heart, but I’m going to sleep.”

“Hey,” the archangel called out, a hand on his shoulder pulling him back. He turned, a forced out scowl on his face, but it faltered when he caught sight of the sympathy on Gabriel’s face. “He’ll be back, you know. If there’s anyone who can get themselves out of, well, pretty much anything, it’s Castiel.” 

“Yeah,” Dean said, averting his eyes. He knew that. He had faith in Castiel too, he knew he was one hell of a fighting machine. But that didn’t stop Dean from hating every second he was away.

“If I thought he were in any sort of trouble, I’d be there in a flash,” Gabriel told him, and when Dean looked into his eyes, he believed him.

“I know.” 

Gabriel nodded, giving him a slap on the back and a shove towards his room. “Go on then, grandpa. To bed with you.” 

Where the archangel’s hand touched him, he felt a trickle of warmth spread across his skin, and suddenly, the violent throbbing in his limbs from the impact with the floor lessened to nothing. Dean couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “Thanks, Gabe.”

A little uplifted, he made his way to his bedroom. He stripped down quickly, throwing on a pair of plaid pajama pants and a ratty T-shirt, brushed his teeth, and flicked off the lights before climbing into bed.

But sleep did not come easy. The bed was freezing, and no matter how many blankets he cocooned himself in, nor how much he tossed and turned, he couldn’t get warm, couldn’t get comfy, and couldn’t get his brain to shut off. Just when he was ready to give up entirely, there was a familiar rustle of wings that had him scrambling to free himself from the sheets to turn on the lamp on the nightstand. 

“Dean?” a voice called from beside him as he blinked in the sudden brightness.

“Cas!” Dean said, darting out of bed towards the angel, who stood near the end of his bed. “Are you okay?” he asked, running his hands over Castiel’s body, frantically searching for any damage.

“I’m well,” the angel nodded, a smile in his eyes. “Apologies for how long I was away, it took some time to locate—”

Dean didn’t care. He didn’t care about the hunt, or the demons, or whatever. All he cared was that Castiel was there, and he was safe. He pulled the angel into a tight hug, cutting off his words.

“Fuck, I missed you, Cas,” Dean said, arms around Castiel’s waist like a vice, face jammed in his shoulder.

“And I missed you,” the angel said, a hand coming to cup the back of his head. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come home sooner.”

 _Home_. A slow smile spread across Dean’s face at the word. The bunker was their home, but it wasn’t until Cas was there that it truly felt like one.

_You shouldn’t be ashamed of it either._

“All that matters is you’re here now,” he said, disentangling himself from the warm embrace, but taking the angel’s hand in his own and holding it tight. He pulled, leading him towards the door, and Castiel dutifully followed, fingers entwined with Dean’s as they headed back out into the hall. 

“Where are we going?” Castiel asked, eyes bright with the prettiest damn blue Dean had ever seen.

Dean’s heart jumped in his chest, and he grinned. “Sam and Gabe put an awesome movie on, you’ve gotta come watch it.”


End file.
